


Five Things That Didn't Happen To Buddy French

by kuonji



Series: Points In Common [15]
Category: C6D - Fandom, Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifth of the Miscellaneous Stories for Points In Common.</p><p>Buddy French has a dream.  And then he has a few more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Didn't Happen To Buddy French

Sandra kissed him passionately, raking her fingers through his hair. He tore her clothes off, literally. The fabric tangled around his fingers as he shredded her diaphanous shirt. "Your hair's lighter. Did you color it?" he asked when he got a good look at her. Suzanne laughed and shook her white blonde curls back. "It's always been this way." He felt silly for asking. "Of course." He ran his hands up her long legs in appreciation. Jenny was tall and willowy where Carol was small and petite. She had short hair to Carol's long. He liked that. And he liked entering her hot cunt even more. "Not so different, is it?" Duck asked. "No, I guess not," Buddy thought, or maybe he said it aloud, he wasn't sure. He thrust upward into familiar tight heat, good, so good. So this was what it felt like. Buddy had always been curious. He'd never been with a redhead before. "Take me tiger. Give me your big, thick cock." Buddy barely had to move to oblige the lithe porn actress whose name he didn't remember. She licked her lips and rode Buddy eagerly, long fiery locks fanning around her torso, hiding then revealing her huge breasts as she rocked. "God, that feels--" He didn't finish the thought. The woman he was thrusting into moaned and wrapped her legs tight around his waist. He braced himself on the bedspread and leaned back to watch her. She seized his shoulders in her clawed fingers. "All those disgusting videos, it's indecent, I tell you. I demand you do something about it right away," she said to him in a stern voice. "We'll take care of it, ma'am," he agreed, and...

Buddy blinked at the ceiling. He was hard and aching and confused. What the hell had he been dreaming about?

A woman's face flashed through his mind. Right, he'd dreamed about Irene telling him-- No, wait, that had really happened. Some fool had been selling porn out of the back of his convenience store. It wasn't illegal, per se, so all Buddy had been able to do was to warn the owner to put up clear signs and make reasonable efforts to keep kids out.

Maybe the signs would cause enough of an uproar from the citizens to stop the man. Buddy hoped so, not because he had a particularly strong moral stance against pornography, but because it would be another headache he wouldn't have to deal with.

Besides, he remembered being a teenager, and part of the fun of skin mags was hiding them behind his bookcase and trading them with his friends behind the wood shop shed, inside of paper bags or squeezed into notebooks and textbooks. Kids nowadays got that stuff on the internet and had no imagination.

But what had he been dreaming about, anyway? He shrugged mentally. It probably wasn't important. A quick glance told him that Carol was still fast asleep. Giving a second mental shrug, he reached down to take care of matters himself.

Just as he was getting a good rhythm, he remembered how Irene Murphy looked with her head thrown back in bliss.

"Oh, _god_ ," he muttered, yanking his hands away.

Sometimes, it just wasn't worth it.

***

They were still behind him. He couldn't lose them, no matter how far he ran, how clever he was about ducking into tunnels or winding through the brush or breaking his way into old buildings. He heard them laughing at him. They jeered insults that he couldn't make out.

Eyes watched him from everywhere. No one helped him, but they watched, waiting for him to trip. Waiting for the ones chasing him to catch up. He shouted ineffectually at them, and he kept running.

He wasn't giving up! Never! He just had to keep... running...

Buddy groaned, finally relaxing into his bed as he came awake.

Another stress dream. If this kept up, he'd go gray by the end of the year. What had he been thinking, taking the job as Chief of Police?

But he knew what he had been thinking. He'd wanted to make a difference on the Island, help people. Do something he could be proud of!

He flipped his pillow over and punched it into shape before plopping back down onto it with deliberate finality.

***

Another leap, and he went higher yet, over the buildings this time.

The people had no idea he was there. He whooshed past their windows and soared over their oblivious heads. He grinned, snatching an apple out of a tree and tossing it through a basketball hoop on the way down.

Another leap, and another, springing higher every time. He was flying through clouds now. And now the black of space beckoned overhead.

He was sure he could do it.

The next time he hit the ground, he crouched so low he was almost kneeling, before he sprang upwards with all his strength and spread his arms out wide. He rose and rose and rose. It was exhilarating. He was doing it. He was going to reach it...

" _Damn_ it," Buddy muttered, as he rolled over and slapped the alarm off. "Always just before the good part."

Carol stirred and asked, sleepily, "Flying or won a game?"

Buddy stretched, savoring his last few minutes of wallowing. "Flying," he answered. "Almost made it to the moon."

"Hm... Bring me back some cheese." And then Carol was snoring again -- something she swore she didn't do.

Yawning widely, Buddy rolled out of bed to begin a new day.

***

The sky was dark, perhaps dawn, perhaps dusk, when their longboat landed. Buddy hopped out, his high boots crunching in the sand. Behind him, lights twinkled and swayed over the water, but no other boats had caught up to them.

He ran up to the top of a ridge. Footsteps raced behind him.

Mr. Lastman, his first mate, handed him the flag eagerly.

"I claim this island and call it Frenchland!" he proclaimed, slamming the point of the flagstaff into the ground.

"Sir?" asked his second mate, sounding tentative.

He flipped his one-shouldered, waist-length cape back and stood with one foot on a rock and his arms akimbo. "Yes, Mr. Olsen?"

"Sir," young Mike repeated. "Buddy, wake up!"

"I'm awake!" he gasped, jerking his head up. He swiped a sleeve over the fogged up patch on his desk where he'd been lying. Thank god he hadn't drooled. "What? What is it?"

"The courier brought those budget reports you were waiting for."

"Right. Yes." He took the sealed manila folder. "Thank you, Mr. Olsen."

"Sir?"

"Uh. Mike." Buddy shook his head as he ripped the flap open. 'Mr. Olsen'? Where had that come from?, he wondered.

***

When Buddy opened his eyes, someone was standing over Jimmy's crib. It was an hour or so before dawn, and Buddy hadn't heard anyone come in.

For all that, the person didn't seem threatening. As if he were wrapped in an emotional vacuum, Buddy didn't feel capable of being angry or belligerent. Only vaguely curious. "Who are you?" he asked quite calmly, sitting up in his seat.

The figure turned, and Buddy could see that it was an old man, perhaps in his seventies, with a close-cropped silver beard and deep wrinkles lining his leathery face. He recognized that face.

"Mr. MacDonald," he greeted, bemused.

The man barked a laugh. "I haven't heard anyone call me that in a long while."

"What are you doing here?"

"Come to see my grandson."

"Your--" Buddy frowned, confusion penetrating his cocoon of content. "No, that's my son. Mine and my wife's. Duck doesn't have any kids." Remembering whom he was talking to, he added, "Sorry."

The man grunted. "My half-step-grandson-in-law. Whatever. It's all I've got, isn't it? My boy's almost fifty years old, and all he's got to show for it is that mainlander he's shacked up with and playing nursemaid for your kid. I'm not holding my breath for any more."

"Now, you wait a minute," Buddy demanded, springing out of his seat and approaching the man. "Duck's the best uncle you'll ever find, and you've no right to--"

"Oh, don't bust a gasket." The man held up his hands. The placating gesture and the oddly bent back thumbs were very familiar to Buddy. "Leastwise he's enjoying his damn life. Didn't have the guts to tell me what he was up to, though, did he? Not as if he didn't have the time. I had heart trouble, is all. I wasn't fucking _senile_."

Buddy shifted from foot to foot and bit his lip. "Um. You know he's gay, then?"

That brought a scowl to the man's face. "What do you think? Always thought he was too picky with the girls. Didn't want to push. I should have. Maybe then my boy wouldn't be stuck with that sorry excuse of a man, Jarvis."

Well. At least he knew his son-in-law's name. "They're married. They love each other."

Mr. MacDonald shrugged, as if that made no difference.

Buddy hesitated, then went ahead and asked: "Would you have been okay with him if he had come out to you?"

The old man snorted and leveled a glare at Buddy. "I would've whupped his sorry nancy ass until he couldn't sit down for a month, doesn't matter how old he was."

"Oh." Buddy was disappointed but not entirely surprised.

"Damn it all, but I would've said something. If I'd known. Walter always was a good son to me. God knows, he turned out better than anyone thought he would without a mum around. He would've listened to me. Maybe I could've turned him around."

"I don't think it works like that," Buddy said, hesitantly. It was ingrained in him to respect his elders, but he'd prefer to think he'd done his best to try and get his friend's dad to accept his son for who he was.

Mr. MacDonald sighed wearily. He seemed to shrink, and he rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Maybe if Mina hadn't died... She was good with people, was my Mina. I couldn't do right by our boy without her. Hell, I never did much with my own life either. Must've made him feel like he had something to prove."

"You were a good dad to him," Buddy protested. Not that he really knew -- he hadn't interacted much with the man back in the day -- but at least Duck had always given him that impression.

"I did my best. It's not enough, but I guess that's all a man can do." The man cleared his throat and straightened. "This little tyke's not doing so well, is he?" he asked, gesturing at the crib.

"He has a fever," Buddy answered, acquiescing to the change of topic. "He has a bad ear infection. The doctor says it happens to babies all the time, though. We're giving him a different antibiotic now and keeping him warm and comfortable. The medicine will kick in in a day or two, and he'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about. Babies are very resilient."

Mr. MacDonald listened patiently as he blabbered on, then gave him a knowing look. "First time he's been real sick, eh?"

Buddy swallowed. "Y-Yeah."

"Duck had colic when he was little. I..." He sighed and didn't finish. "Don't worry. He'll feel better soon."

"The doctor says a couple of days."

The man smiled down at Jimmy's sleeping face, currently squinched in discomfort. "No, I think I can do something about that. Just don't tell anyone it was me." He winked, and for a moment, he looked very much like his son when Duck was in one of his playful moods.

"What do you mean?" Buddy asked, smiling himself at the whimsical look on the face of the stern old man he remembered.

"You'll see." Mr. MacDonald reached down into the crib, crooning, "There, there, little one..."

Buddy started awake. Early morning light was already turning the brightly painted walls from shades of gray to blue and green and yellow. His neck was stiff from sleeping in the armchair.

Jimmy's crib was unusually silent, instead of the fussing and whimpering of the last two days. Hair standing on end with his anxiety, Buddy quietly stood and approached the crib. At first, his horrified eyes showed him his baby's motionless form.

He put out a hand and stroked Jimmy's back. He let out a long sigh when he felt warmth, and the slight movement of breathing. Clearing his throat, he picked up the thermometer, business-like, and inserted it in Jimmy's ear. Just as it beeped, he heard movement from the doorway.

"How is he?" Buddy turned around.

Carol was watching him anxiously, the bags under her eyes adding to the disarray of having just gotten up.

Amazed, Buddy gestured toward the crib and showed her the thermometer.

Jimmy's fever had broken, and he was sleeping completely peacefully.

"Oh," was all she said. She looked down at their baby. She felt his forehead, probably not quite trusting the thermometer. Then she retucked the blanket around Jimmy. Finally, she fell against Buddy's chest and took a long breath before hugging him hard. "You can still sleep for an hour and a half," she said. "I'll watch him."

He kissed the top of her lowered head and wrapped her thin shoulders in his arms. "I'll stay."

She made no protest. "Okay."

They stood over the crib together as the sun came up.

  
END.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [Multiple Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/259876) (Wilby Wonderful), by kuonji  
> [Innocence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/250323) (Wilby Wonderful), by kuonji  
> [I Dreamed I Was](http://archiveofourown.org/works/222442) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
> [Superego](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2713046) (Various C6D), by Isis  
> [Past Perfect](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0307316/) (2002 movie)


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